He shrugged. “I saw a touring company do it. It was pretty cool.”
“Yeah,” I said, as if I knew.
“I remember your audition,” he said. “You were really good.”
“Thanks,” I said. “You were kind of flat.”
I couldn’t believe I’d just said that. What was wrong with me? Of course, I was correct—he had been flat—but what kind of asshole said that out loud?
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Cal was staring at me. Then he burst out laughing.
“It’s okay,” he said.
“I didn’t mean it,” I said.
“I was kind of flat,” he said. “But I’m also one of five guys here, so it didn’t really matter, I guess.”
There were more than five guys at the camp, but the ratio was way off. And he was right—none of the guys had been quite as impressive as the girls, but Cal had been better than most. A few sour notes notwithstanding.
“I promise I’ll do better at the showcase,” he said.
“Good,” I said, before realizing how rude that sounded. “I mean. I’m sure we’ll both do better.”
But Cal was shaking his head, thankfully still smiling.
“You don’t hold back, do you?”
“This is really important to me,” I said. “I need to impress the talent scouts.”
Cal looked at me, and then nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “I think we can do that.”
CHAPTER 23
I wrapped my coat tighter around myself as I stood on the front step of Harriet’s rented Rhode Island apartment waiting for her to answer the door. In the reflection of the windows, I could see snow coming down. The sky had been gray all morning, crowded with clouds, but it hadn’t started to get wintery until I was already halfway to Harriet’s place.
If things hadn’t been so awkward lately, I could have easily imagined us sharing an apartment during the out-of-town tryouts, or at least finding places in the same building or block. Instead, she was a good twenty-minute walk, which I’d discovered for the first time today since I hadn’t yet been to her place.
The door swung open.
“Shit,” she said. “It’s really starting to snow, isn’t it?”
She stepped aside so I could knock my boots off on the mat and peel off my jacket and hat. I shivered even though her house was warm, my hair slightly damp from the walk.
“I’m feeling like rehearsal is going to be canceled tomorrow,” I said.
“Can’t remember the last time I had a proper snow day,” she said.
“Your place is nice,” I said.
It was. Very Harriet. Either she’d brought a good portion of her records with her for the duration, or she’d found a short-term rental that had an impressive collection of its own. She had brought her own record player, though, which didn’t surprise me in the least. She’d gotten her love of music from her dad and her love of history from her mom. Which is why the massive stacks of books on the floor weren’t unexpected either.
“Researching the next project?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Maybe,” she said. “Looking for inspiration, mostly.”
Everything still felt so stilted between us, but now it wasn’t completely one-sided. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’d been avoiding her a little as well. After the whole candy-in-the-dressing-room thing, I’d seen a version of myself in her eyes and I hadn’t liked the reflection at all.
Whether that was on me or her remained to be seen.
But we were trying. At least, that’s what tonight was an attempt at. Dinner and a movie, just the two of us. Like old times.
When I’d been in New York for Show N Tell, Harriet had been one of my only friends. Her family lived in Harlem, so after a long day of shooting, I’d come over and get a home-cooked meal and a pretend family life.
My own parents, who had never truly understood why I did what I did, were on the other side of the country in Northern California. They were also “extremely disappointed” in the choices I’d made, starting with wanting to go to Camp Curtain Call, followed by accepting the job on Show N Tell as a dancer, and then when I’d gotten emancipated at Diana’s recommendation.
I wasn’t on my own, but I kind of was.
Except for Harriet and her family.
“It smells incredible,” I said, following the scent to the kitchen. “Gumbo?”
“Of course,” Harriet said.
We’d eat bowl after bowl after bowl during the winter months. Smelling it was like being a teenager again. But without any of those pesky hormones causing trouble.
“Wine?” Harriet asked.
She’d already poured herself a glass and from the amount left in the bottle, I could tell that it was her second. I didn’t mind. Harriet was a cozy, sleepy drunk.
“Sure,” I said.
“I was thinking we could watch an old classic tonight,” she said as she filled our bowls with stew packed with shrimp and okra. “Strictly Ballroom?”
“I haven’t watched that in years,” I said. “Sounds great.”
Of course, she could have said that she wanted to watch YouTube videos of dogs falling off beds and I would have said yes. I wanted us to get over this fight or whatever this was, and I was prepared to acquiesce to just about anything.
But Strictly Ballroom was no hardship. It was a movie we’d watched multiple times together and it was nice that she’d chosen it for tonight. If she was feeling nostalgic, that was a good sign.
We took our bowls to the living room, and without saying a word to each other, both of us sat on the floor at the coffee table, our backs against the couch. It was how we’d always eaten during movie nights because Harriet’s mom would have murdered us if we’d gotten any food on her sofa.
“No disrespect to Moulin Rouge or Romeo + Juliet,” Harriet said, “but this is the best Baz Luhrmann film.”
“One hundred percent agree,” I said. “And the way Scott spins on his knees and then rises slowly in front of Fran during the last dance? So hot.”
“It’s not bad for a straight guy,” Harriet agreed.
I was halfway through my second bowl of gumbo when the doorbell rang. Harriet had gone into the kitchen to open another bottle of wine, so I got up and went to the door.
“Are you expecting anyone?” I called to her and looked out the window.